And Another Thing

Wile E. Coyote was always ordering and trying to drop anvils on the Road Runner. I’ve looked up anvils — they’re expensive. Plus, they’re not eligible for Amazon Prime for shipping, so that’s out. Where did Wile E. get the money for them. Did he have a job? A hefty inheritance? Anyway — back to the anvil. Even if I could afford an anvil, they’re too heavy to pick up to drop on someone. Yes, I’ve thought this through. Even if I could get a rope around one (and I couldn’t), I’d have to get some kind of wench to hoist it up. These costs are getting out of hand. And I don’t know if my Explorer could handle the weight because I’m going to need to transport that thing. Not that I have plans or anything.

I hope my psychiatrist isn’t reading this.

I’m tired of all the spokesowls and spokescows in commercials. There are spokesowls in at least three commercials currently running and four with spokescows. Listen, I don’t need an animated cow to tell me what cheese to buy. And don’t get me started on those damn Charmin bears.

People who have a last name that could be a first name are sketchy. You know what I’m talking about. I was watching something just now and a man’s name was John Christopher. I don’t trust you, John Christopher. You’re probably in the witness protection program.

I have no tolerance for body icky body function humor. You’re not 12, you have a huge ass beard, and your kids are twelve — grow up.

Someone has to say it — the huge ass beards have to go. I’m not even sorry. I don’t care who you are, what your background is, or what your profession is. Unless you are a lumberjack or you are actually Grizzly Adams, shave that mess off. There are critters growing in there. Nicely trimmed beards, goatees, and impeccably perfected mustachioed men: I am not talking to you. I’m talking to the unkept full face beards and the long beards that rest on a man’s chest. Stop it. You are not a lumberjack or a pirate.

I’m half clairvoyant, half Nancy Drew. That means I can sense things and then I can figure out what the hell is going on. I have my ways and I’m practically impossible to fool. Friends didn’t nickname me Nancy Drew for nothing.

For fun I like to refinish furniture into shabby chic pieces. I’m currently looking for a super cheap long dresser/buffet/credenza for my living room to use as a tv stand/entertainment center. I’m on several sites where people sell things and I’ve noticed a ton of people call their pieces “antique.” No, your 1975 dresser with a broken drawer and missing hardware is not antique and no one will pay $100 for it.

Would it be weird if I got rid of our dining room table and put in an air hockey table? We would get more use out of that. Plus, I can smoke just about anyone at air hockey and there aren’t many sports (yes, I’m calling it a sport) I’m good at. Except for badminton, which we all know Tory and I came in second at the intramural championships. I have the tshirt.

If you drive a classic Corvette and you have the little sticker stick people on your window, I should be able to pull you over, put you under citizen’s arrest, and seize your car.

TV chef prople: stop saying “I’m going to build this cocktail” or “I’m going to build this spring roll.” You’re not making it from Legos or actual bricks.

My son had a football scrimmage yesterday afternoon. I made it 20 minutes outside before the Irish in me said “ya garsh darn fool, get ya inside inside before ya burn to a crisp!” No, I’m not schizophrenic (that’s not my brand of mental illness), it was a joke. Anyway, the heat index was 1042°, so I went to my car — but not before noticing that a coach on the other team was wearing an Urban Sombrero.

Dear Readers,

I need to write. More than ever. I have things to say — whether they’re ridiculous poets like this or something more serious.